


That Day

by SportyScribe



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SportyScribe/pseuds/SportyScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a few months since Richard Poole returned to Saint Marie - and he's pensive about a Uni reunion</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Morning

**Author's Note:**

> There are scenes I felt were missing from Episode 3.1  
> Brought over from fanfiction.net - it was my first attempt at writing so be gentle... there was slightly less angst in the next piece, honest!

He stood on his verandah – just staring out to sea, a cup of tea growing cooler in his hands. He knew what he had to do, he just had to wait for a few days and then all the pieces would come together – it was his modus operandi – how HE did things.

He didn’t hear her come out behind him, and started a little as she linked her arm in his. He smiled at her, wearing just his pajama jacket with the sleeves all rolled up. She looked at him – he’d been distant this past week – she was almost certain it wasn’t anything to do with her, but there was just some unease.  It started when they had arrived.

 “Are you OK? You look….” Her voice trailed off 

“I’m fine – it’s just.. you know, parties aren’t my thing and…” he paused, looking into her eyes, _wanting_ to tell her his suspicions.

 “Richard,” she said, not breaking her gaze. “You know, couples _tell_ each other things, confide in each other…”

 It reminded him of the time they were stuck in the university lab during the storm – she told him he didn’t need to solve puzzles on his own anymore – he had her. And he did – he knew that. Hell he’d even come back for her. _For Her._ But he needed to wait – yes, wait until he had all the pieces in place.

 “It’s nothing, it’s just … well Angela is a bit… _intense_ – she always had a bit of a thing for me, but .. well she just wasn’t my type…” he finished lamely.

 She regarded him briefly, and then stroked his cheek before kissing him. "Maybe I need to be there to protect you” 

He chuckled – but looked back at her – not quite willing to believe how his last 6 months had gone since he came back. How she had said “yes” when he stumblingly asked her on a date. How she had said “yes” again when he could barely ask her to stay. How he had become so lucky, and yet here he was about to go off and face what had been the love of his life at University. But there was something different – not right – not the same as those carefree days.

 The cab arrived and he acknowledged it with a wave of his arm. She put her arms around him and gazed at him – sure he still wore his suit but she’d finally persuaded him not to wear the tie, and he looked good.

 “You want the cab to drop you home to get changed?”

 “No – I’ll go for a run along the beach – why don’t we stay at mine this evening? I’ll cook, I’ll bring some of your stuff back with me – I might just want to keep this pajama jacket” she added, wickedly.

 “Ha – not that it stays on you for long” he smirked back. But all too quickly his features settled back to that pensive look he had when she walked out on the verandah. The cab driver impatiently honked his horn.

 “Go – I’ll see you tonight and you can tell me all about it. But I promise you – you’ll be fine this afternoon”

 “Oh you promise?” he said, that little half smile again.

 “Well if it isn’t – I _can_ promise I will make it up to you” she said before leaning in to kiss him again, this time gently but lingeringly.

 “You do know I love you, right?” she whispered

 “I know. You know I do too, though yes?” he replied – he stroked her cheek and whispered “My Camille”. She smiled – she nodded. It was all she ever wanted in that moment. 

 One last kiss and he was gone.


	2. That Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These were the scenes I felt were missing from the episode. I had a huge convoluted scene with Fidel taking charge and Dwayne getting Camille away from the site but it felt better to just do her perspective leading to and from that scene at the villa to when we see them in the next couple of shots at the station.

She felt sick, lightheaded, like she was running on auto-pilot. The boys were saying things, rushing to get the kits, to run to the Defender, they were gently suggesting she stayed at the station – but she had to go. The call. That call.

 “It’s a call from the villa – there’s been a … an incident. It’s Richard”

 She couldn’t fight down the nausea – Fidel had stumbled over the words when the call came in. It couldn’t be. Not him. NOT HIM.

 As they walked through the villa – she vaguely took in the guests, dully noting to herself that she should be observing everything – the blond woman sobbing hysterically in the corner, saying his name over and over – like she had ANY right to. The other woman looking shocked as she pointed to the balcony, the two men.

 She could see his shape in the lounger – he was still. So ominously still. How many times had she done this as a policewoman – offered words of consolation to witnesses or the bereaved? Firmly but gently keeping them away from the distressing scenes.

 The three of them walked out wordlessly. That walk around the side of the lounger – her feet felt like lead, and there he was – looking like he was dozing but for an icepick in his chest, and the blood. He was so still.

 She rushed to hold him, the sobs starting but Dwayne held her back, gently mind, but held her – she couldn’t touch him? Of course she couldn’t – they couldn’t contaminate the scene.

Just hours ago she had lain with her head on his chest, her hand stroking over his heart. Her legs gave way and she collapsed sobbing as Dwayne rested a supporting arm on her shoulder.

* * *

Catherine sat in the kitchen, contemplating the last two or three days. She felt drawn and tired – the outpouring of grief that first day had been almost too much for her to bear. It had subsided of course – exhaustion had seen to that.

And now? She watched her daughter drifting aimlessly around the kitchen, absently preparing a coffee before heading to the station. Catherine could scarcely believe it.

She had argued, even pleaded with her daughter to let the Commissioner deal with everything. Anything to spare her having to relive it all over again. But there was never any stopping Camille.

She hugged her as she went to leave. Everything was mechanical at the moment. Like she was going through the motions of life. God knows, would she ever see closure?

* * *

 

Camille knew she would be better off at home but it was driving her crazy. They had treated the beach shack as a secondary crime scene and carefully removed all his things, and some of her own belongings from when she had stayed with him. She had things of his at hers too. She sadly wondered whether her place too ought to be treated the same. She couldn’t bear to open the bag she’d brought back from the shack that day with some of his clothes for the following morning, which would now never come.

She remembered how she’d felt watching Aimee die in front of her but how she felt compelled to do something useful in that whole sad mess. She opened the closet, trying not to look at the red dress that had first caught his eye, and pulled out a black top and a pair of shorts. She slipped out the door and walked slowly to the station, avoiding the curious gaze of stallholders – lost in her thoughts.

Fidel was trying to keep the panic out of his voice – but the young sergeant was rapidly trying to explain to the Commissioner that Camille was in the office, starting to set up the board, collating forensics. Paterson sighed and got in his car to head over to the station.

“– I _can_ promise I will make it up to you” – there were almost her last words to him that morning, that damned day. “I will make it up to you” she thought as she put down the phone to Richard’s parents. His mother was often too distraught to stay on the phone to her. His father was trying to just fathom why – well wasn’t everyone? It just broke her heart each time they spoke when she couldn’t give them, give herself a reason _why_. She tried to focus on the prisoner release files for the umpteenth time.

Paterson walked in, not looking forward to what he had to say. She was there looking drawn but oddly in control. He weighed up admonishing her for coming in, it had just been a few of days after all, but instead he gently squeezed her arm in support, as he had done a year or so ago when her best friend had been murdered in front of her.

He watched her – she was just holding herself together, he could see but he needed someone who knew Richard and knew him well to at least get the new man up to speed.

As flatly as he could, he informed them that their new DI had arrived – bracing himself for the looks of utter disbelief as the shambling man shuffled up the station steps.

 And with a sense of heavy inevitability he watched as his DS, his protégé looked at the replacement with disdain, then flashed a look of hurt and anger in Paterson’s direction, and then turned without a word and walked back into the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I just felt there were a couple (at least) of scenes missing – some kind of interaction with either Camille or the team and the gap between Richard dying and the new guy arriving – I got the feeling it was a couple of days at least had passed, maybe a couple even more then that.


End file.
